


THE PATERNOSTER GANG ! in The Adventure of The Narrow Headed League

by graestu



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, The Paternoster Gang (Big Finish Audio)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graestu/pseuds/graestu
Summary: The Paternoster Gang investigate a leptophrenologist.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

" ' _Have you got an abnormally narrow head?_ ' " Madame Vastra read aloud.

It was a late Wednesday afternoon, and she sat with her back to the window in the twilight of the drawing room of 13 Paternoster Row.

She handed the newspaper cutting to Jenny, who returned it to their visitor. A timid man, feeling out of his depth, he was a prospective client who wished to remain anonymous. The strikingly obvious feature that everyone immediately noticed, was that he did indeed have an abnormally narrow head.

The advertisement continued with a North London address and a date, inviting interested parties to learn something to their advantage.

"This is for last week," Madame Vastra pointed out. "Did you attend?"

"I did," he replied. "And I am honoured to report, that my assessment for membership of the exclusive Narrow Headed League was successful."

The name meant nothing to her, and Madame Vastra asked, "What was the process for consideration?"

"I joined a line of similarly hopeful people - soon disappointed as they were turned away at the front door. At my turn, a pair of pinkish eyes studied me through the letterbox, then a deep voice growled, "You appear to be within acceptable parameters," and I was allowed into the darkened hallway. A second man greeted me, and ushered me into a bare room. "I say, good show, Jonarse! It's an absolute corker!" he hissed, as he gestured that I should sit in the only chair. He introduced himself as Micmac. Then he proceeded to feel my head, and take measurements using callipers, a protractor, a set square, rulers, bits of string with knots in, tape measures, and a mirror on a stick. He pronounced himself very satisfied with the results, and sent me on my way. He promised that if I had passed the examination, I would receive instructions for the next stage within the following days."

"Did you get a good look at these characters?" Madame Vastra interrupted.

"Alas, no. Narrow heads, undoubtedly, but Jonarse stayed lurking behind the door. Micmac? Blotchy pink and grey skin, possibly make up as a disguise? Spindly, with jerky movements hinting at difficulty balancing. Their deliberate speaking manner felt like they were impersonating an English accent using rehearsed phrases. The interview was conducted in semi darkness, as if to conceal his identity."

Jenny coughed unintentionally.

"You did not recognise them from your job at the bank?" Madame Vastra added quickly.

"No," the visitor said quite firmly. Then, "I have not mentioned that I work in a bank! How the Devil...?"

"A simple deduction," Madame Vastra explained. "Your overdeveloped muscular right middle finger and groove on your right thumb are indicative of how you hold down £5 notes while counting them. The flattened end of your middle left finger is caused by the way you slide coins across the table to count them."

"Bless my soul! It is true," he gasped, checking and noticing for the first time. "I concede there is little point in protecting my identity any further. I am the manager of the Arsenal branch of the Shouter & Loosewatch bank." And he took an envelope from his briefcase, and passed it to Madame Vastra via Jenny.

"The next stage," she guessed, and on perusing the letter, suggested, "And you wish to hear my advice on how to proceed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She summarised the contents. " _Micmac and Jonarse cordially invite you to a weekend with The Narrow Headed League_... There is a different address... _The Portermaine Estate, in the town of Maybridge, South Hertfordshire_... which is their HE. HE?"

"HeadEighths, ma'am. It's half the size of a HeadQuarters."

"It is for this coming Saturday, Sunday and Monday," she concluded.

"Do you think I should take up the offer?"

"Does this arrangement conflict with your duties at the bank?"

"Now, that is a stroke of luck!" he replied. "It is the Bank Holiday weekend. The bank is closed from midday on Friday - when as you have read, Micmac will send his cab - until Tuesday morning. Therefore, by happy coincidence, it is the only occasion I could be away for such an extended period."

"And what of your home life?"

"I am a bachelor. In fact, I live alone in the house adjoining the bank. Indeed, my cellar backs on to our biggest vault - where we keep all the money, important Naval Treaties, the most valuable carbuncles, and so forth."

"Enjoy your weekend with The Narrow Headed League, Mr Wimbolt Drumlin," Madame Vastra announced reassuringly, returning his envelope, via Jenny, and bringing the interview to a close.

"Thank you for putting my mind at ease," Mr Drumlin sighed, relieved. "I bid you good day. Ladies."

Madame Vastra rang a little bell, and Strax entered with their guest's curiously padded hat and coat, and escorted him out.

"My apologies for not bringing you a case," he said, with an embarrassed bow as he left.

"There's no time to lose!" said Madame Vastra, as soon as the door closed.

She leapt up, grabbed a map, and unrolled it on the table.

"A large estate by the canal," she said, spotting the location for the weekend's events. "Jenny, I want you to learn as much as you can about this pair of villains. You'll have just one full day to observe them."

"Yes, ma'am."

Despite her late arrival the night before, Jenny was up bright and early that Thursday morning. From her room in the coaching inn, she had an excellent view of the run down estate opposite. All day she kept watch. Clearly, only the two men described by Mr Drumlin were in residence.

They entertained no callers, and had no servants. A fact reinforced when one of them screwed a brass plaque to the gatepost himself. It read, 'The Narrow Headed League', and was the final piece of set dressing for benefit of the hapless Mr Drumlin.

The evening began with Jenny sneaking out of her room, darting across the lane, and dodging through a gap in the hedge. She edged nearer to the ivy covered old house as the silhouetted figures walked about inside. A quick dash across the lawn. But her foot hit something solid in the flowerbed, and she tripped over it and fell. She froze in the shadows, hoping her shocked cry had not alerted the two men. As the moments passed with no sign of them, Jenny regained her composure, and found, partially uncovered, where the foxes had been digging, that she had fallen over a shallow grave and was now staring into the pinkish eyes of a dead man with an abnormally narrow head.

Gaslight was suddenly flooding towards her, as Micmac and Jonarse stepped out of the back door.

Jenny scrambled away, into the barn, to escape and hide. A large sheet seemed the ideal place and she lifted the corner to slip behind it.

It was being used to cover a space capsule the size of a hansom cab. Its door was open. Jenny squeezed inside as the footsteps of Micmac and Jonarse came closer.

There will now be a short intermission.


	2. Chapter 2

_"It all went a bit sci fi there, didn't it, Mr...?"_

"Eric Pode of Croydon."

_"And are you into that genre, Mr Croydon?"_

"Not really, no. I did read one book. By Philip K Something-Or-Other."

_"Dick."_

"I thought so, too."

_"Not a fan, then?"_

"I've never read Moorcock in my life."

_"And on television?"_

"If there's one thing I remember about Torchwood - it was Tosh. As for Star Trek? I've got hundreds of photos of T'Pol from Enterprise."

_"That sounds like a lot of Blalocks to me."_

"So was the programme, mate."

_"Time for Part Two."_


	3. Chapter 3

_While Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard follows Madame Vastra's odd request to reconfigure two prison cells so the bars go horizontally instead of vertically..._

It was unusually busy for midday on a Friday outside the Arsenal branch of the Shouter & Loosewatch bank.

Slow road sweepers brushed gently to avoid disturbing the beggars and pavement artists.

Window cleaners rubbed dry cloths repeatedly over the same panes of glass.

Two soldiers in red tunics were taking an age to complete a lap around the square, while numerous nannies took empty prams for a walk in the opposite direction.

Anyone looking closely would have noticed that every single one of them was wearing size 10 Police regulation clod-hopping hobnail boots.

When a horse drawn cab arrived, its driver barely visible behind his scarf, they all paused for a crafty look.

What they weren't expecting to see was a leather clad young woman leap from its luggage cluttered roof, slide down the nearest lamp post, run to another cab with its hidden observer, and disappear inside.

"Whatever is the matter, Jenny?" said Madame Vastra.

At the bank, Mr Wimbolt Drumlin, its manager and neighbour, climbed into his appointed cab, unaware of his audience, who resumed their performance as it pulled away, settling in for their patient vigil.

"They have a space ship in the barn at the estate," Jenny told the stunned Madame Vastra. "Yes, ma'am. I hid in it when Micmac and Jonarse came out to check their cab while I was examining the dead body."

"Wait!" said Madame Vastra. "There's a dead body now? Perhaps you'd better start there."

Jenny took a breath.

"Are you getting all this, Strax?" called Madame Vastra into a tube connecting the inside of the cab to the Sontaran outside in the driver's seat.

"I am," came the reply.

Madame Vastra nodded to Jenny.

"In a shallow grave was a man, like the others. Pinkish, greyish blotchy skin. Pinkish eyes. Abnormally narrow head. In a prison style uniform with what I took to be a name badge - ' _Skordahl_ '.

Madame Vastra silenced Jenny with a raised hand, as both she and Strax gasped and mentally kicked themselves. They knew the notorious name.

"Micmac and Jonarse," she murmured. "They're Extractors! Follow them, Strax! Keeping an unsuspicious distance - we know where they're going."

Madame Vastra stared out the window, thinking, then Jenny asked, "Who is Skordahl? Who are the Extractors?"

"Let's just say he's the evil gang leader of an evil secret society and leave it at that," she answered. "That'll save your readers ploughing through boring page after boring page of backstory should you ever publish our adventures in the manner of friend Watson."

"Sontarans have a saying," came Strax's voice down the tube. " ' _Never judge by appearance. Except Extractors. Their ears are too close together_ '."

Madame Vastra was ready to explain.

"Three pilots' seats in their ship?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"With Skordahl dead, they need a replacement. This isn't a bank robbery after all. They've found the only person who fits into their three-way psychic command helmets. They're kidnapping poor Mr Drumlin to help fly their ship!"

Poor Mr Drumlin was about to discover the same thing.

He'd spent the uneventful journey relaxing and quietly anticipating the weekend. It brought a proud smile to his face to see the welcoming plaque on the gatepost at his destination - he was a member of the illustrious Narrow Headed League!

The cab parked in the barn, and when Mr Drumlin stepped down into the light, he had his first proper look at Micmac who awaited.

"Absolutely bang on, Jonarse!" he said, as the driver clambered down unsteadily. Then, "Have a look at this, old bean," to Mr Drumlin, while lifting the corner of the sheet hiding the small space ship.

Utterly baffled, Mr Drumlin was suddenly grabbed by the two villains and bundled into the seat nearest to the door, with urgent words being spoken in their own alien language.

In those moments of confusion, Micmac had already picked up a mesh helmet and was easing it onto their captive's head.

The glass cables woven into it glowed softly as it tuned into Mr Drumlin's brainwaves.

He struggled to free himself.

Micmac and Jonarse had to let go for this stage of the absorbing process until his mind was fully controlled. It was an unavoidable risk and badly backfired.

Micmac was too slow in reaching his laser pistol to threaten him, and Mr Drumlin burst free, elbowing the duo aside.

He stumbled outside looking for an escape route, and ran down the lawn to the canal.

Micmac and Jonarse, with their ever present difficulties coping with Earth's gravity, eventually staggered to their feet and followed.

Madame Vastra's cab clattered into the courtyard.

Mr Drumlin untied a thick rope, and jumped from the tow path onto a narrowboat. Luckily, he was able to put his obscure hobby of barge engineering to good use, and sped off faster than top speed in the stolen vessel.

Unfortunately for him, Micmac and Jonarse were equally skilled, and jumping onto a second narrowboat, gave chase.

Micmac blasted warning shots of laser bolts as they gained on their prey, while scattering a family of noisy ducks.

Madame Vastra strode purposefully and briskly down the lawn and on to the tow path. Within ten paces she had overtaken Micmac and Jonarse and was walking alongside Mr Drumlin.

"Remove your helmet," she called across. "Throw it overboard."

Being such an exact fit, it was tricky to loosen it. The glass cables were warm and still pulsing with energy as they transmitted back to the ship, but at last he managed to wrench it clear.

He threw it into the water, where it fizzed and crackled and sank into a steaming froth, sending up an enormous fountain that waved around like an unattended hosepipe.

The ship exploded, tearing the barn apart with fiery eruptions in all directions.

Jenny jumped onto the boat to capture the two Extractors using her best judo moves.

They were squealing with rage and being dive bombed by loudly quacking ducks in a shower of dead fish and burning debris from the barn.

"You don't get this in _Sherlock Holmes_ ," said Madame Vastra to Strax as he arrived at her side.


End file.
